Darkness Burning
by Whome the fox goddess
Summary: *COMPLETED* Will darkness burn through the light? Can anyone save the world from a new darkness that is neither human nor known about? Or is it really evil? What is evil?
1. Default Chapter

I came up with the idea of this fic, and being writing blocked on my other fics, I wrote it. I will try to get this one done and then work on my other ones, not necessarily in that order of course. This will or may be slash. Any suggestions are asked for. If you want me to notify you of a new chapter (for any of my fics) leave you email around.  
  
Fox.  
  
Title: Darkness burning  
  
Pairing: none yet.  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any thing else but my imagination, and I am not even sure of that.  
  
  
  
Prologue  
  
"Hello, miss, what may I do for you today?" Said an old man made of messy white hair and shadowed black wrinkles stuffed in an over tight pants and shirt that squished rolling fat out of his shirt. A greasy hamburger lay half eaten on the hospital white counter. The entire room was white but for the man, her, and a sign above the counter announcing the building she was in: The Eastville Mental Institution.  
  
"Hello, mister, I am looking for a man…" She said as she looked at the greasy stains on his shirt.  
  
"Well, you came to the right place. I have been told that I am quite the pleaser," the pervert winked at her.  
  
"Sorry, but you don't match the picture I have here." She held up the picture, smeared and old almost like the men but not of the man or anyone like the man. From the picture stared a boy's face with sparkling green eyes almost covering the slight sadness. As the old man blinked in some sodden surprise (maybe he recognized the picture? Could her search be done?), the boy in the picture blinked quickly; it was hard staying so still.]  
  
"Well, you have come to the right place also my dear, but are you sure you want him? He is a loon, totally crazy, crazier then most in here! He talks awake and asleep of things, people, events that do not exist. The nurses have to restrain him." –Her eyes widen with worry at the word restrain – "Madam V. doesn't even like us going near him, and --"  
  
"Enough. I will see him right now, mister."  
  
"Are you family?"  
  
"No, friend."  
  
"Then you cannot see him, miss; no one but us workers are allowed to see him. And that's it. Though if you would favor me with a few favors, I might be able to sneak you in."  
  
That was it. She would not do anything for this slim and would defiantly not listen to this pervert. Wincing for she knew she would be breaking some muggle protraction law, she took out her wand and murmured the words to freeze the man for a small bit, just enough for her to get to the boy in the picture. The man was completely frozen when she put a memory charm on him. When he would awaken, she would not exist, at least, to him.  
  
Holding the picture in a slightly hard grip (disguised nervousness? Nay…) which made the boy in it wince and hide in the corner, she left the white room for more white rooms. She needed to find a nurse, and ask again, though this time she would be "family" and find him in this maze of hotel white and cleanliness.  
  
Finally, a nurse, coming out of a patient's room. She was the opposite of the man at the front. Makeup perfect, clothing fitting and designer, face blank, a robot almost, but a robot that could lead the visitor to boy in the photo.  
  
The nurse saw her, of course; nothing could or would get by this nurse.  
  
"Hello, miss, may I ask hat you are doing in this area of the building without an escort or visitors pass?"  
  
The visitor held up the picture, which was still again though still in the area away from her grip. "I am family, can I see him?"  
  
The nurse looked at the picture, then the holders face, and sniffed. She knew the lie, but nodded at the liar and led her away and deep into the building. As they walked, the stairs led them under the ground, and then farther under. The walls changed from hospital white to dungeon gray. Cracks, sniffed at by the nurse, and other such dungeon qualities appeared to complement the wall colour. Cold metal bars held in whatever was in the cells around her; sometimes people would call to her from their cells with nonsense and gibberish.  
  
"Why are the people treated like this?" The visitor murmured as she looked into the crazy, hopeless eyes of an old woman.  
  
"The are the family-less, money-less, and the hopeless cases." The nurse said as if it was nothing, as if the people were nothing and no one. It was disgusting. She, the visitor, would figure out how to free these poor people, after getting him out of here.  
  
The nurse led on, pass the poor humans, and some maybe not humans; she felt the distinct mark of a vampire when marching past one cell. The walls came closer and closer to trapping her in this hellhole as the light went on vacation except for half dead bulbs stuck just enough to walk without tripping. The nurse in front of her wore a bland expression as if this place didn't affect her at all.  
  
"Room 999, John Doe." The nurse said as she stopped and opened the door. Some sort of gun type thing had appeared in her hand. "Mr. John Doe, you have a visitor."  
  
A faint scratchy sound, sort of like clothe against stonewall, and a pant of heavy breathing came from the black room. Heavy, sloppy footsteps next with more heavy breathing as John Doe went to the light.  
  
"Who is it? Who comes to torment me more? A doctor with your little cures? Or maybe my nightmare, dead living of friends I caused dead with my stupidity?" The voice sounded drunk and slurred as the footsteps slowed down and a light shadow came out of the room. He didn't sound crazy, only like an old man with a young but weary voice.  
  
The visitor frowned slightly and moved toward the shadow. "Harry, is that you?"  
  
The shadow fell, tumbled out of the room and into the visitor's arms. Raggedy clothing made the patent decent but barely that. Flies feasted off what could only be rot on the very skin of his arms. Hair like a savage from a cheap movie hid the face and neck. An udder of medicine and filth filled the air around them. Arm hair covered some of the new scars from rat bites and self-hatred, making barely visible the old scars of the time before this man was here and a time of great deeds and battles against the dark and evil.  
  
The visitor swept back his banks and outlined the lightning shaped scar on his forehead. "Oh, Harry, it is you."  
  
The man blinked before squinting up at her. His vision blurred as he saw the sight he thought dead. "Hermione, you are alive? But, you died. I saw you die."  
  
"No Harry, I am alive. I had to play a small trick on you so you would defeat you-know-who."  
  
"Voldemore."  
  
"Yes, him. I'm sorry, can you forgive me? No, not know; that is not what I was sent to find you for. Harry, he's back. We do not know how, but he's back. You must come and help us again, will you?"  
  
"No." 


	2. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Readers: I you want this series to continue, please review. I like writing this fic, but I do not think other's read this fic because of the lack of reviews (I even did the thing I didn't like and reloaded it (it has no reviews before reload but). So, does anyone like this fic at all?  
  
Part 1  
  
The old man at the counter stared as they came out of restricted area. Not too much at Hermione, but what she brought with her: Harry in all his rot. The old woman patient who was flirting with him looked up and shrieked "Monster" as she ran back to her room. Maybe she should of tried harder to find some cover for Harry before they came up here. Maybe not: the old man would not have such a comical disgusted look on his face if Harry looked human.  
  
Maybe she should have left Harry down there to riot more until he came to his senses and said yes instead of that no of his. No, no one should be left like that in that horrid place, least of all Harry Potter. He'd been through so much already, and maybe even years in that place... That was not right, that place, Harry in that place. This was right, saving Harry from that place. And maybe the other people, though not the vampire. Vampire's deserved to live their un-living in the worst possible place for their actions during the War.  
  
Hermione, the vampire may have been here during that time. How can you condemn a man for something his species did? Hermione, where are you?  
  
Shut up, she yelled at the voices in her head. Vampires are monsters. They deserve what they get.  
  
Hermione, where are you? Harry is a monster right now.  
  
She looked over at Harry. True, he looked like a monster. However, he was not a monster on the inside. His sole was pure and strong, and totally un- monsterish at all! The rags and total-need-of-a-shower were not Harry; they were nothing. Harry was the light of the light. He was the hero of the good wizards and witches of the world.  
  
Where is Hermione? Hermione, He was that man, that famous Harry Potter. What is he now?  
  
Hermione gulped. Maybe Harry was not Harry Potter now. Maybe he still was. Maybe the vampire was innocent and maybe even good. Maybe Harry was evil and the vampire good.  
  
Why had Harry said no to the cry, if he was still Harry Potter? What happened during the last battle that made Harry hide here of all places? What happened to Harry Potter?  
  
Hermione, he has his reasons, but you have your need. Convince him to become Harry Potter again.  
  
She nodded to the voice. The voice, her kidding voice, had always been right these past few years. It helped her figure things out, helped her keep together after the War's end, and helped her now, as she brought Harry out of the hell house and into the light of day under the eyes of the perverted man.  
  
The old man smiled grimly and possible something worse as he grabbed his arm that had suddenly hurt like nothing else on earth. He didn't notice the pain; he noticed what the pain meant.  
  
His master was back. The rightful heirs to the world would gain their places, and he would gain it with them.  
  
The patients in their rooms noticed something unusual that day. The usual mad laughter that haunted their dreams, that was there, but a dark cloud took over their minds and body as they lost control.  
  
It would be reported a week later in the newspaper as the Mass Suicide of the Madhouse. Under the article, sometimes, there would be a wanted poster for a mysterious old man who everyone thought worked at the madhouse, but never did. No one knew his name. No one had every asked his name, in their memory. But as any wizard knows, memory spells are quite easy.  
  
The mad search for the "old man" was started on urging of the Minister of Wizardry.  
  
  
  
Part 2  
  
The sun was shinning as usual. The streets were screaming, not as usual. Well, it was not every day a perfectly respectable looking woman stepped outside of the crazy house with a thing made of rags and riot. Men, women, children, all ran or horrid respectably away from them. One kid wouldn't shut up his screaming of "He's going to eat us, dada!" as his father polled him away with the rest of the crowd. A woman without her shopping bags (they had been "left" on the payment with her little girl) went into a store. When she came out, with a new package clutched to her chest, she stepped toward them and through the shopping bag to Harry. Pity was her eyes as she looked at the poor man.  
  
Hermione looked at Harry. His eyes were shifted downwards, but no emotion tried showing on his face. His emotions, his pain, were locked in him to all but some to find if they did not look into his eyes. His eyes were shame, and hurt, and self-loathing.  
  
Harry opened the bag and pulled out a pink poncho. He started chuckling, almost like a mad man. He ripped open the package and hid himself in the bright pink plastic as he laughed.  
  
Hermione called him, said his name over and over, more worried as she talked. What had happened to him? What was wrong with him?  
  
Why don't you ask, Hermione?  
  
Hermione nodded to the voice and did what it suggested. "Harry, what is wrong?"  
  
"I'm free. That is what is wrong. I am free. I am free..."  
  
With that, he fell down, his eyes dead, and went into seizers. He fainted, like a dead man.  
  
"Harry, what happened to you?" Hermione stroked his hair as she waited for the Ministry car she summoned to come. "Harry, where are you?"  
  
"Here, finally..." A whisper she did not hear.  
  
  
  
Part 3  
  
Beep. Beep. Beep.  
  
Not a hospital heart monitor, though this room was very like a hospital room being that it was a school medical room. No, this was not a collage type place either or some place students learned in. This was an elaborate nurse's office for an elaborate school. Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft.  
  
No student was in that room at this time, though two former students who knew the room far too well were there. Hermione Granger and Harry Potter.  
  
Hermione was listening to the Beep, Beep, Beep, of her watch as the seconds turned into milliseconds and so on, as time came to stand still to the time Harry Potter should wake as the potion Madam Pomfrey gave him wore off.  
  
The time came. The time passed. Harry slept. Madam Pomfrey came to check with no answer to the sleep, only a shrug and "get some sleep" for Hermione.  
  
Beep. Beep. Beep  
  
The heart monitor beeped as the life of the boy, almost man, in the white hospital bed somehow sustained. He looked so very pale, even against the slightly red bandages the covered the wounds that seemed to make up his body. His lips were blue; the doctors said he wasn't losing too much more blood, but still, his lips were blue. His eyes were open, like a dead man's, and starred into space with no life. Glossy green grapes with some eternal black wound in the middle. The heart monitor said he was alive; he could not.  
  
In libraries everywhere, wizards and witches looked for the counter spell to this curse that kept magic from helping him. After a week, hope was thin as everyone prayed the muggle doctors could help him live.  
  
BeepBeepBeep.  
  
The heart monitor's beeps raced each other as the dead looking man moved in his seemingly death. Dead green turned to life as the eyes again reflected the soul inside him. Panic. Fear. Hatred. Something more. All in the eyes of Harry Potter.  
  
Bee--  
  
The cords entrapping Harry snapped.  
  
"Harry! You're up!"  
  
Hermione and the other, glad at their friend's life again.  
  
"I must go. I must get free of..."  
  
Harry struggled away from his friend's arms and out of the room.  
  
Beep. Beep. Beep.  
  
The watch beeped on back in Madam's Pomfrey's medical wing. The present came again to waking eyes.  
  
Hermione was up from her nap on the seat next to her bed.  
  
Harry was up, grabbing at his arms in a panic.  
  
"Harry, you're all right!" Hermione hugged her friend. She had missed him these past years.  
  
"Hermione, where's... where's... where is He."  
  
"Ron? He is not here. He is busy with other stuff but he will be back."  
  
"No, I know that. I mean Him. Where is he? I cannot see him."  
  
"Who? Sirus and Lupin promised to visit as soon as they could. Dumblemore is--"  
  
"Dead, I know. I mean Him. Where is Voldemore? I cannot see him."  
  
Harry looked up into Hermione's eyes. His eyes did not have the black wound in them. They had a white wound now.  
  
Harry was blind?  
  
No. Harry's eyes caught sight of reality and present, and so returned to their usual colour.  
  
Beep. Beep. Beep.  
  
The time bomb was set.  
  
  
  
Please excuse the misspelling of names. Do not excuse common words misspelled.  
  
Fox. Please, does anyone like this story? 


	3. Voice

The last part may have been a bit confusing, but it should have been so... hehe... I will go back and italic some parts in Hermione's part like I did here to un-cunfuse things.  
  
  
  
Part 4  
  
It must have been night, for the room was black. No light at all traveled through the window, if there was a window. Maybe he was back in the cell again, the place he thought akin to hell, with the dark man's laughter haunting his dreams.  
  
No, it could not be. This was not that hell. This place felt different. It lacked the rot, the screams, the terror, and the evil of the other place, the other darkness. It was a good place, maybe even safe, perhaps. Maybe, this place could be his freedom.  
  
But your freedom has come.  
  
He looked up, down, left, right, everywhere where that voice could of came from, but, as usual, no one was here. He knew where here was: The home of the mysteries voice that had kept him sane during his torment of the cell.  
  
During the times in that cell, the times of near madness, loneliness, darkness, the voice would free him for bits. He would find himself here, in this eternal blackness, maybe standing, maybe floating in nothingness, maybe lying on a cloud like bed, maybe just existing away from everything that haunted him in the real world of the cell. The blackness was not blackness anymore. It was peace, freedom from the pain, freedom from prison, and everything else he needed.  
  
The voice was his only friend then. It would talk to him in its neither feminine nor masculine voice. Pain and loneliness left as friendship and comfort came.  
  
Knowledge filled the talks. The voice would send him images of the real world outside the cell, him, and hell. The images showed friends living their real lives, happy, sad, or whatever, important events, unimportant events, everything in the words of the voice.  
  
Sometimes he would see the future. He saw himself, washed, happy, living in the real world. He saw his kids: a girl of ten giving him flowers as a smaller boy rode on a muggle kid's fire truck, honking his horn as he did circles in the yard. A wife, as beautiful as a veela, cooked delicious treats in the kitchen and smiled at him with love. He would have that, the voice said. This was the future. He just needed to keep strength and come through the cell.  
  
The voice changed him somehow, but not him exactly, more like his magic. A time after the voice started showing him the future, he would slip out of the reality of the cell and into something not quite like the realm of the voice. In the new place, he could see everything sawn before. His friend, with a thought, he could see them, where they were, how they were, and their life! He could watch them live, as he could not. The future he also saw, in all its grandness. He could see glimpses of his children and their life, though sometimes he could theirs and other's deaths.  
  
He could not control the visions, but he lived off of them. They were his life as the pain and cell were his dream, he liked to think, or all of it dreams, the cell a nightmare and the visions and voice the grandness dreams.  
  
He thought that the voice had left him when he was free of the cell, but thankfully, the voice returned to him and took him here again. What would the voice tell him? What would his true friend tell him? Would this be their last meeting?  
  
Hello, Harry Potter, the voice spoke to him again, finally.  
  
He didn't try to find the voice again; there was no need now. It was the voice and that is all he needed to know.  
  
Rest your worries. I will be back, but now, I must go. The voice sent him comfort as it said that, and regrets of their short parting.  
  
I will always be with you, Harry. But Harry, now you are free.  
  
The voice was leaving him. No, it could not go. It could not leave him alone again. It--  
  
Harry felt weight on his limbs and hardness under him as he returned to the blackness of wherever he had been before the voice.  
  
Not the cell. Please not let him wake in the cell again. Let it not be like before. Let him not awake to the laughter, the prison, again. Please, voice, please.  
  
He opened his eyes to death.  
  
Madam Pomfrey lay over him, her cold now dead eyes peeping at him with a slightly shocked expression. One of her hands clutched a bottle of sleeping draught or something that looked like that.  
  
Someone had killed her, but why? She was the best of ladies. Always healing students like Harry and his friends when he was young, why would anyone want to kill her?  
  
Maybe, someone had tried killing him and thus instead killed her.  
  
Yes, they were trying to get to you, Harry Potter.  
  
They would die. They took his friend away from him. They tried killing him, and thus the voice. He would kill them, whoever they were, no matter what.  
  
Harry pushed Madam Pomfrey off of him as he got off of his bed.  
  
He had some haunting to do. And the voice would help him. It had not left; it was with him. Forever.  
  
Part 5  
  
The old man frowned. Something had happened. He did not know what, but something he had not predicted or wanted had happened. He could feel it, taste it, almost touch it.  
  
Something was wrong.  
  
He got up, his master telling him what to do to correct the fault. On demand, he grabbed his wand and sword.  
  
He had some killing to do.  
  
  
  
Part 6  
  
"Minister, um, minister?" The boy shook her shoulders lightly with one hand, balancing his papers with the other hand.  
  
The minister of magic looked up as she blinked sleep from her eyes. The boy sharpened as she awakened, becoming less and less the gray blur. She needed glasses sometime soon. The boy blurred around the edges to her eyes.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
The boy started rambling about things she needed to do, papers to sing, meetings to attend, and finally "Harry Potter disappeared from--"  
  
"What? When? How?"  
  
"I-- I-- I don't know, sor--r--y Minister, sorry."  
  
She dismissed the boy. Where had Harry gone?  
  
To kill someone.  
  
Harry, kill someone, maybe. But who would he want to kill? The dark wizards had been killed. Volde--  
  
No, you.  
  
Yes, yes, he was. He was jealous of her, and wanted her knowledge. He was crazy now; that was why he had been in the crazy house. He was going to kill her.  
  
No, she would kill him first. 


	4. Forever.

Part 7

_Get up, honey. _A female voice.Soft shaking. Warm hands on his shoulders. _Time to go._

_But I want to sleep more, mum. _Disgruntled sleepy voice. Pillow over head. _Let me sleep._

_No, you need to wake up_. Soft voice, still shaking him.

_But, I don't want to._ Sleep was good to him. No pain. No world. No life. Life was bad; sleep was good. _Please, let me sleep._

_I am sorry._ More shaking, more pressure. _You need to wake up._

_Why?_ He did not want to wake up. When he was awake, people died. Death was outside in the real world. He liked here, where all was perfect. Where he could rest forever.

_You are needed_. Shaking harder. Voice angrier, more forceful.

_Who would need me?_ Why would anyone need him? He wasn't any Harry Potter. He was second-rate. He messed up in the war. He was responsible for death, and now, he was sleeping and would not wake up. He could not face the friends he failed. Never, never could he make up for his failure. If he had not wanted to be famous, it would never had happened. But he had, and it did happen. He would not wake up to his mess up. 

_Your friends. You must help them._

No, he could not. He could not face them as he was. A jealous boy who messed up badly. They could not need him. No one could need him.

_Wake up. Make up for your mistake and face them._ The voice was stronger. 

Make up? Could he ever? Maybe, if he got up. No, he could not. This was safe. He could not mess up more this way, could he?

_If you sleep, your friends can die_. Angry, now. _Wake up._

No, he could not allow his friends to die. He needed to wake up. He had to wake up. He would wake up.

He opened his eyes to pain. His body hurt. Dried red paint flaked off his clothing. Not paint, blood. It coated the room he was in, the room he fell asleep in. It coated him. That made sense. This room, you could not die in unless already died, the stories said. He remembered the stories as he remembered why he came here. 

Above here, there were pathways carved in the earth. They, him and his friends, had been up there. So long ago or yesterday, he did not know.

Part 8

This way, come on, this way," He yelled as she ran down one of the many stone passages. His friends followed him. 

They had not read the book he had that one day studying in the library (also known as sleeping) and accidentally going into the forbidden section for a peek. They did not know the way; he did. He could lead them and maybe become a hero. He had read the book He knew the way. Yes, they would talk about him one day, not The Famous Harry Potter. 

The passages got thinner and thinner as he followed the ancient runes on the walls, though sometimes, the caves would open up to big caverns. At one cavern, bones littered the ground. Some of the bones contained ancient armor more then half rusted off. Big bones of a monster looked the newest of them all. They went across that cavern as fast as the bones allowed them too.

Sometimes, a wall of the passages way would disappear, leaving then squished to other side as they walked those ones. They continued on. They needed to get to the vault where a great treasure hid that could  help them on their battle, according to the book. He needed to be a hero for once in his life. Harry, even though he was here, would not this time. He would.

They got to a cavern with no walls surrounding it. On either side was blackness. From the blackness, a giant beast came, glowing black eyes. It attacked. His friends fell down into the darkness on one side cavern as he cowardly backed away, looking for his wand, but not fast enough. The darkness hit him down, a claw like thing tearing out his middle. He fell into the darkness. 

Pound, Pound, Pound. 

He hit stone as he flopped down through some small hole in the darkness.

Pound.

He hit a slab of stone and stopped. His eyes opened to the rune on the ceiling. The vault of forever. The right vault, but it was useless now. His friends maybe dead. Him almost dead. No way to find the treasure.

He was so sleepy. So sleepy...

His eye lids closed as he fell asleep.

Forever was on him.

Part 9

The symbol, that last imprint on his eyes from his sleep, was still there. No blood stained it's deep crimson colour. It was the same as the mark in the book and of his last sight of it. It was forever and forever never changes. Its hourglass, skeleton shape was the same but something looked slightly different. No, forever never changes. 

"Why did you bring me here? Why did you wake me?" He said to the ruin, his eyes squinting from pain. 

It responded not in words but its voice. The pain left, leaving a feeling he never felt before: no pain, not a single bit of pain at all. The symbol slowly dissolved and fell into him. The symbol was gone. Forever had changed. 

He gulped as he looked down. A small weight was in his hands. It was the deep crimson of the symbol, and shaped like it. He had forever, he knew, and no time. He had to save his friends from evil. Now.

They and the world finally needed him, he knew. 


	5. Light

Yes, this fic is supposed to be confusing, that is the point. And yes, I am thinking of stopping writing this because of the lack of reviews. 

Part 10.

Light, real light was in the distance. He could see it down the passageway. It burned into his just awakened eyes with hope. Life was that way. Freedom from these passage ways. He wanted the light. To feel the slight burn of the sun on his skin, he wanted even that. 

The passageways coldness: burning his sanity away before he could find the light. Long hike through that coldness left pains on him that forever had taken away. Now, the light would let him rest. No dark shadow in the light but that which followed and took his friends. The end of this pain of forever soon was coming, but first the freedom of forever's cave. 

Yes. The light ahead. No, no longer ahead. There, he felt it. On his skin, heating his skin with a slight burn. Yes, freedom was his. The cave, forever, and sleep were gone as the reality of light came. 

He followed the light to the entrance of the cave. Green. The world was green and leaving. Not the red of the cave, green. He grinned as he bent to pick a flower. Forever's gift burned. It didn't want him to pick the flower? Yes, he understood. The flower's beauty would die if he picked it. He didn't pick it; instead he left it to grow. He would not rid this world of beauty. Beauty was good. 

He wondered, not sure where to go now. He could go back to Hogwarts? Forever's gift warmed at that. Close, he was, but not there. What was close to Hogwarts? Hogsmeade? The gift did not warm as before. It was a pleasant warmth. He didn't know the way exactly, but from his memory, it wasn't too far away. 

He walked. Night came. He walked more. Tiredness came. He slept and awoke to a stench. The stench was him. Dried blood plus sweat did not equal a good smelling him. His nose was most unpleased with him right then. He needed water as soon as he could get it, and some new clothing. 

Water came soon in the form of a nice, pleasant stream that turned redish brown as he washed. The steam was no longer perfect or pretty because of him. Forever's gift burned. Yes, it was right. The stream would not be red for long. His defilement of it was not forever. Nothing was forever but forever, and maybe not even that. And this stream's red would not be a long time, not near forever. But right now, it was red, and that mattered to him. The gift again burned but pleasantly again. To preserve and protect what was good, he should do that the crystal said. He understood. 

Finally clean, he got out of the stream. Lying next to the bloody clothing that still smelt, laid the wand he could not find before. He grabbed it and held it close. His wand, the one he had through the war. The one he had when with his friends. His wand was his again.

Now, what to do? He looked at a small flake of blood on his wand from his clothing. New clothing, yes? Yes, those would be slightly good. He waved his wound, said the correct spell, and got a nice, good set of wizard robes that were nice and clean, and in a dashing crimson colour. Modesty at his nakedness took over, thus he quickly put the robes on. 

The stream had one more purpose. He had to look at himself. Maybe it would tell him how much time he had lost asleep, but in the realm of forever, could he have changed?

He looked into the water, and saw himself in a tint of filth. He had not changed. In the water, he saw himself as he had seen himself before the travel to the forever. A seventeen year old, red head looked back at him with his eyes. Though one thing changed: he had no pimples at all. Either no time had gone by, or forever had not changed him.

Part 11

Finally, he reached Hogsmeade. It was not like his face, though not that different. Wizards seem happier almost, though naïve also. The stores themselves had little changed, but for a bit worn in some places and a bit painted and renewed in others. New stores also had come, and some old ones gone completely. One store caught his eyes: Weasley's Wizard Wheezes: The Hogsmeade branch. The twins dream had come true, as it showed. And he had been gone much longer then his face showed. The building the twins shop had been it was not there before, but it now showed its age as not being new. His face did not at all show his time in forever. Not at all.

He turned to go into the shop, but the gift burned. It did not want him to go into the shop, so he did not. He continued on the street, wondering where the gift wanted him to go. Some kids rushed by him playing some game he did not recognize at all. They looked like Hogwarts kids; it was probably a visit by the amount of kids here. Maybe even some of his former classmates kids were here? Had it been that long? He could remember the days when him and his friends used to come down here, stop at the Three Broomsticks for a butter beer... The gift burned. That was it. It wanted him to go there, to the three broomsticks. Yes, that was it. 

He grinned as he went there. A butter beer sounded fine to him. The Three Broomsticks also sounded fine, and it also soon appeared to his eyes, almost the same though also more worn then he remembered. 

He stepped into the much well remembered tavern. Butter bear and laughter filled the air. It was good to be awake again. 

Some ruddy guys, and one ruddy girl, called him over to their table with a "Hey, stranger, want a drink." Out of money and all, he sat beside them with a pleasant thank you very much. The alpha male type man ordered him a drink in his loud voice as he sat down. Introductions preceded that, where found he knew one, though one name did ring a slight bell, of a second year guy in Hufflepuff when he was in seventh year. Thankfully, his hood covered his face and the Hufflepuff did not recognize him. 

He sipped on his butter beer as he listened to a conversation he heard. In this conversation, a quite interesting conversation he heard, about a voice and evil. 

Please, if you read this, review for gods beef cake! I do not have much motivaition with little reviews..


	6. A story

Part 12

The story started with a telling of crazy folks these ruffians had met. The Hufflepuff was the one to bring it out.

"I met the craziest man one day. It all started when I was ridding my broom over some country  -- I forget which of course; you know my great memory -- and I see sparks coming from a spot under me. They be no muggle sparks, I tell you! I know them at once to be magical sparks. I wonder what happenings down there, since muggles do have the audacity to travel into our areas, making us has to be careful, you know. So, however was making those sparks, well, something had to be wrong with them or something. So, naturally, after thinking that, I naturally think that there must be some wild party going down there. So I go down there, park my broom in a bush -- which I later found out to be poison ivy covered bush -- and came upon only one man, naked as he was born, old as the old Headmaster..."

Before that comment, everyone had been laughing as the drunken people they were. Now, they all bowed their head in some sort of remembrance. The old headmaster? Of Hogwarts? Dumbledore? The old? Had he retired? Or, had he died? 

He did not get the chance to ask, for the Hufflepuff started talking again. 

"So, this old man was the cause of the sparks, though I no idea how. He was laying down by a simple but for the magical sparks fire, and he was mumbling. As I got closer, I could hear him. 'Some closer, lads, father has a story to tell you young boys, yes, father does. Yes, yes, Greg, there is adventure. No, Lily, no romance. Father is sorry. But, Jay, there is a terrible evil. Yes, father will tell you know.

"'Once upon a time, in a kingdom somewhere or another, lived a great king. This king was just so ever mighty and great, always doing great things, and just being a great king. As I said, this king was great, but I did add a was there, did not I? Sometime between his middle years and olden years, something happen. People said he went and became a lun, much like I did, my kids. Others said he just showed his true kingly meanly side. For the first time in quite a while, deaths started happening at a kings, this kings, hands. His nice wife was one of those deaths, but before her killing, she did tell the subjects of the king one thing. An evil, just truly evil, voice had taken over her husband and warped him out of reality and into his now insanity. The king lived for one hundred more years in this insanity. He died of old age. No one but time was able to stop him.

"'Oh dear me, that was not the story I be wanting to tell. I am ever so sorry.' A lun, that guy was! What was the point of that story."

The one from forever heard no more. An old persons voice floated through his mind, repeating "No one but time was able to stop him." Forever was a part of time. He had come from forever's vault with its gifts. He was time. He would stop this evil, with time with him. He just had to devote himself to time.

Forever's gift burned Yes.

Part 12

He was close. He could almost smell his prey, or preys in the air, or magic waves. They had tried to kill him. They would die. Most gruesomely and bloody, if he get them to die like that, he would. Maybe first cruciatus and then avada kedavera. Yes that would work. They would suffer for trying to kill him and the voice. 

His scar burned painfully. What? Didn't it burn for evil Voldemore only? 

_It is telling you, yes, Harry Potter._ He understood now. His scar wanted him to do good and kill the evil enemy. _Yes, kill the enemy._ Was that him who thought that, or the voice. It spoke true, so it most have been the voice. 

_Your prey comes now._

He gripped his wand as he waited. 

She hated this. She was forced to do this manual labor, and instead of getting her chaffier, she had to ride on a regular old broom! She was the Minister of Magic, rightly so. But The Famous Harry Potter, the one out to kill her of course, made her do this. He would die. Maybe a forbidden curse was in order. He should have been killed by that age ago. Voldemore knew that, even though he was evil. 

_Your prey comes._

She grinned. Yes.

The clearing was clear but for him. He stood in the center of it, because he was the centered of it, he knew. He held the key to his glory. This clearing is where he would find his full glory. This day was the day. Yes, it was. He would rule the world.

_Your prey comes._

The old man rubbed his hands when his master spook. The time was done.


	7. The end of time?

The first was coming. He could feel it; the master had given him that knowledge, of the first one. The second one, when she came, would be harder to feel. But the first one, that one was coming. He remembered that feel from the place the fist one made him be for so long. He would love it when he could finally kill the evil that prevented him from his true power all that time ago. Yes, he would just love it. The blood running down his fingers from gaping wounds, the screams filling the air as he ripped out the heart. A spell would keep the body alive and...

_Focus now. Your Prey comes._ Master said. Yes, he would. He needed not to plot how to kill the first one. He would, and would soon.

Time slowed and finally stopped in the clearing.

***

She closed her eyes, sensing the air. He was here, and another one. One, the unknown, was at her destination. (When did she have a destination? She must have had one for a while, but not noticing it.) The other, the one she would kill, he was coming closer, maybe as near as she was, but in the other direction. She smirked.

Time seemed to slow as she headed toward the clearing.

***

Sweat stuck to his skin as he walked. He had been walking for a while, but not enough to explain how far he had traveled, he bet. There was these times when the world would blink and the land in front of him was different. He was travailing somewhere, though he did not know where. It seemed like he was wandering just, but then again it didn't.

He didn't care any longer, about this walking. He was doing forever's biddings, and maybe he would save the world, maybe he would not. Somehow in his walking, he had lost any caring about what he did want. Maybe he had wanted to visit his friends earlier, but now he didn't care. This was his life now, and this was what forever wanted him to do. 

His legs slightly ached. He didn't care. He had sacrificed that to become stronger. No pain, no gain. He had no pain, so he would have no gain? He might have chuckled at the irony before but now he was missing something. 

The world blinked again, this time longer then before.  

***

Maybe he should sneak into the clearing, seeing that there was already someone in there? No, he would not be weak. He was a great man, and great man did not sneak in the shadows like he did when he was young. He was the great Harry Potter, the boy who lived. 

Wrapping his arms around his wand, he stepped into the clearing.

"Hello, so you came finally." The man, that man who had trapped him in the cell for all those years, he would die, that man. Harry would kill him. By the glint in his eyes, and the laughter before, the man was insane and evil, meaning he needed death. Harry would give him that death. 

"Hello, Harry. Nice to see you again."  The Minister of magic stepped out of the bushes, her wand in her hand.  Their eyes met, sparks flying. Harry raised his hands, as did the others. 

_Kill them._ _Use the spell I taught you. _The voice screamed. Harry understood.

_Kill them._ _Use the spell I taught you. _The voice screamed. The old man understood.

_Kill them._ _Use the spell I taught you. _The voice screamed. The Minister understood.

***

They were going to kill each other. He could tell. Should he stop them? They, two of them, were his friends. They had been good friends, fighting evil, getting through scrapes and giant dogs. Were, had been, all past tense. What are they now? Did he know them? Were they good now, still?

The crystal answered with the future. 

They, his friends and that old man, they were going to destroy time and the world. Evil had taken them. 

He would stop them from destroying the world, though not by stopping the killing. The only way to stop them and keep time safe, the only way was to kill his formor friends. He didn't care any more. This is what needed to be down, so this is what he would do.

Ron Weasly took out his wand and yelled the forbidden curse of death. Ron Weasly watched as the green light engulfed his friends and the old man. Ron Weasly watched his friends die without a tear. Ron Weasly didn't care.

***

_I had a nightmare._ A small, weak, sleeping voice with a young masculine quality.

_I did too. I died in it._ Another male voice.

_Here too. _And old man this time.

_We all had it._ A female voice this time.

_Don't worry about it._ Strong, comforting presence washing over their sleeping minds, leading them back to unknowing sleep. _It was just a dream._

_Really? Then... I think I'll sleep some more._  They went back to sleep, their voices no longer disturbing forever.

***    

After movie talk type thingy.

Out of the dark shadows comes a cloaked figure.

"In this story, Harry, Hermione, and the old guy, a voice of destruction wanting to take over their minds, well, it does. It uses their emotions to twist them into wanting to kill their own friends so it can destroy time and the world. They became the dark characters of the story, a bunch of evil followers, but they are human. Ron, after being trapped in a realm where he slept and did not live, becomes the hero. He gives up on his emotions so he can save time, the thing that gave him power. He kills his "friends" because he sees them as evil. He becomes un-human.

"There is one question I would like to ask the reader. What here is the evil and what is the good forces and humans?"

The cloaked figure goes back into the shadow and to her glowing computer.

"Now, review please."


End file.
